


Traffic Heeds No Immortal

by SnakesandTea



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidents, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bathing/Washing, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comfort, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Desperate Crowley (Good Omens), Desperation, Gentle Aziraphale (Good Omens), Helpful Aziraphale (Good Omens), Love, Loving Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, No Sex, No Smut, Omorashi, Omovember, Pee, Piss, Pissember, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Understanding Aziraphale (Good Omens), Wet Clothing, Wetting, wee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27823492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnakesandTea/pseuds/SnakesandTea
Summary: On his way to the bookshop, Crowley realizes he’s rather desperate for a wee. Of course, the demon is determined to show his corporation that he’s in control. Crowley doesn’t quite make it. No matter, Aziraphale is more than understanding and takes brilliant care of his serpent.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	Traffic Heeds No Immortal

**Author's Note:**

> It’s Pissember and I finally managed to get my life together well enough to finish this fic for y’all! (Originally written for Omovember, hence the tag) Sorry I’ve been MIA – I’ve caught covid and have literally no income at the moment. A few too many things on my plate. Hopefully, the following desperate wiggling and tender care will make up for my absence. (Smut to come in other works!)

Crowley writhed in his seat, furiously gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “Come on!” He grumbled under his breath and checked his watch once again. “Fuck!” It was his own damn fault he found himself in such a predicament. Stupid, bloody moron, me. Crowley growled, glaring at the vehicles ahead of him.

He drummed his fingers on his thigh and pressed his legs together. A small, steady trickle of piss leaked into his boxers. Crowley hissed sharply and pinched his tip, successfully stemming the tiny flow. “I’m not going to wet myself like a fuckin’ child!” He snarled to the otherwise empty Bentley. Urine sloshed uncomfortably in his bladder as he eased the car forward. Traffic seemed to be breaking up. Thank Someone! The seatbelt dug into his abdomen, forcing another few drops of wee into his underwear. He glowered at his unruly corporation. “Dammit!”

Crowley took a shallow breath. He could make it – no, he _would_ make it. The slender fingers grasping his penis tightened as he made his way along the M25. He wriggled and squirmed, zooming past idiots on their mobiles. “Drive, you blasted twat!” Crowley shouted at a few. Of course, they didn’t hear, but it made him feel better. And it distracted him from his growing desperation.

Finally, he swerved to a messy stop before the bookshop. Crowley threw the Bentley’s door open and stood up in one fluid motion. The momentum, however, was too much for his aching bladder. Piss rewarmed his crotch in a bursting flood of fresh heat. He yelped and gripped himself through his jeans, hopping from foot-to-foot. Passers-by be damned! Urine dripped between his fingers, pattering on the cement below. After a few seconds, Crowley managed to stop the flow. However, much to his chagrin, a sizeable wet spot marred the denim. “For Someone’s sake!” He took a shaky breath and hobbled toward the bookshop, unabashedly holding his prick.

Crowley dashed in, trying to undo his belt as he stepped across the threshold. He muttered under his breath, “Fucking bullocks, piece of shite!” The demon’s hips jerked and twitched erratically, trying to slither free of his jeans. Midway to the washroom, he stopped, both hands shoved between his legs. The pressure in his abdomen forced him to double-over. He gritted his teeth. “No!” Crowley snarled, “Not yet!” He wiggled as another dribble of piss leaked into his pants. “Sssstop it!” Part of him wanted to be done with it and let go right there. The distraction caused a few leaks to spurt into his boxers before he remembered himself and forced his aching muscles to clench again.

He shuffled the rest of the way to the washroom and smacked the door behind him, not really caring if it closed. Nothing mattered but making it to the toilet. His damp fingers desperately clawed at the slippery metal of his belt-buckle. Another wave of piss surged into his clothes, making the front of his jeans glisten. “Fuck!” Crowley growled and frantically tugged the leather. “Break, damn you! Please!” He begged and pleaded with the immobile accessory as he danced before the loo. Tiny yellow puddles dotted the white tiles beneath him. Crowley whined and paced the small space, leaving more droplets in his wake. His exhausted muscles refused to hold any longer.

Crowley’s shoulders sagged in terrible relief as he flooded his clothes. His head dropped back and he moaned, allowing his powerful torrent to gush loudly into his jeans. The hiss echoed through the tiny washroom, but, in that moment, Crowley couldn’t find it in himself to give much of a damn. Rivulets of hot piss streamed down his legs, leaving wet lines in their wake. His knees went weak, shaking with delicious euphoria.

Aziraphale decided to investigate the severe noises of distress emanating from the washroom. Surprised to find the door fully open, he slowed his hasty footsteps and inquired from a respectable distance, “Crowley?” Met with silence, Aziraphale approached the threshold. He swallowed his question upon seeing the serpent. There, in the middle of his loo, Crowley stood with his head tilted back in unparalleled rapture. Urine soaked the demon’s clothes and pooled on the floor beneath him. Aziraphale’s jaw fell open as he watched in unabashed awe. The sheer, unbridled pleasure on Crowley’s face sent tantalizing shivers through his core. Aziraphale stared, utterly entranced by the sight. He only managed to collect himself just as the demon’s puddle stopped expanding.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked rather tentatively. “Dear boy?” Panicked serpentine eyes met his own. “Oh, oh, it’s all right, come here please?”

Crowley shook his head and dropped his gaze to the floor. His expression shifted from worry to horror. Ohshitohshitohshit! He’d just fully pissed himself, directly in front of a bloody toilet, because he couldn’t get his belt off like some snot-nosed primary school brat! And of-fucking-course Aziraphale saw. Tears prickled in his eyes. The only being in the universe he actually gave a damn about had just watched him have a wee in his clothes. Bullocks! He couldn’t tear his attention from the incriminating pale-yellow ring around his ruined shoes. The acrid scent of urine hung in the air like a cruel beacon, mocking him.

Aziraphale’s chest ached for his demon; the poor serpent looked as though he could discorporate on the spot. If Crowley didn’t want to be comforted, the principality would respect his wishes; however, he would not standby and permit the demon to sulk in his mess. “At least allow me to get you cleaned up, then?” He held his fingers poised to snap.

“I don’t need your help!” The serpent spat, performing his own miracle. He grimaced. Miracles never felt the same. Crowley needed a shower. A long, hot, year-long shower. That should do it. Maybe. He squirmed as trace bits of grimy residue made his jeans cling uncomfortably to his skin. Crowley sauntered past the angel, still doing his best to sneer. He didn’t take more than two steps before he realized his bladder wasn’t empty. Crowley snarled under his breath. Fuck. He couldn’t turn back to the loo now – not with Aziraphale standing there! Another painful throb panged through his abdomen. Bullocks, if he didn’t do something soon, he wouldn’t make it anywhere! Crowley covertly shifted his weight to his other leg and swallowed a whimper.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, unsure of what to do. Over the years he’d learned that demonic miracles tended to leave something to be desired, particularly when dealing with matters of freshness. However, he didn’t recall them to be so uncomfortable that they warranted constant wiggling. Realization dawned on him. Oh dear. It was often hard to completely empty an over-filled bladder on the first go; especially when particularly stressed or embarrassed. “My dear?” He asked nervously. A loud squirt and fresh wet mark spreading across Crowley’s jeans confirmed his suspicions.

No. No, no, no, no, no! Crowley’s chin trembled. He refused to have another accident in front of Aziraphale. A second wayward jet of piss surged into his boxers. His breath caught as he slipped his hand between his legs and groped himself. Deep red burned in his cheeks.

Oh… Oh dear, the poor thing. Aziraphale’s eyes softened. Angels and demons, alike, tended to have stronger corporations—at least when compared to the bodies of humans. Regardless, even their corporeal forms had limits! The principality refused to let the serpent destroy his bladder for the sake of pride. “Crowley, just go, please, it’s all right.”

He couldn’t believe the words that came out of the angel’s mouth. Nevertheless, Crowley shook his head. He wouldn’t – couldn’t – willfully piss himself! The demon tightened his grip on his prick.

Damn the snake’s blasted ego! Oh, but that pitiful look on Crowley’s crumpled, crimson face – it simply broke his heart. “Do you want my help?” He offered gently.

He furrowed his brow and cocked his head.

“Right. Well, I could undo your belt? That way you could keep, erm,” Aziraphale cleared his throat, “your hands where they are, and perhaps, we’d be able to spare your trousers. How does that sound?”

Crowley seriously doubted his face could grow any redder, but it definitely felt as though it burned ten degrees hotter. He managed a small, consenting nod. The angel’s perfectly manicured fingers made quick work of his belt, and even faster work of undoing his zipper.

“Right then. Can you handle the rest?” He asked softly. His hands folded nervously in front of him.

The demon pulled his leaking prick from the damp confines of his boxers. A weak, short dribble tinkled into the toilet. It was hardly more than enough to fill a shot glass. All that bloody work! For nothing! He would have been better off just finishing in his clothes as the angel had suggested! Crowley’s cheeks flamed as he tucked himself away. 

“There, now, I bet that feels better, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale smiled brightly and turned on tap, letting the bath fill. He noticed the demon’s worried confusion and calmly explained, “You seemed rather uncomfortable in your clothes after you miracled them, I figured you may fancy a bath?”

Sliding into the steaming water, properly scrubbing the filth and shame from his skin, oh, that sounded perfect. But agreeing to the bath meant facing Aziraphale. It meant looking into those damn gorgeous blue eyes and likely seeing disappointment, disgust, or worse: pity.

“I must insist.” With the tub nearly full, Aziraphale continued, “We can’t let this water go to waste.”

In spite of himself, Crowley nodded.

“Wonderful!” The angel miracled a fluffy towel and set it on the counter. “Right, then, I’ll leave you to it.” As he turned to go, slender fingers wrapped around his arm. “What is it, dear?”

Crowley stared at the offending piss-damp hand pathetically clutching Aziraphale’s wrist. He didn’t want the angel to leave! However, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted him to stay, either. A choked, “Angel,” escaped his lips and he fell silent. 

Aziraphale wordlessly lead him to the tub, took Crowley’s jacket in each hand, and cocked his head. He needed his consent before he took off a single article of the serpent’s clothes. The demon nodded and Aziraphale helped him shrug it off.

Next came Crowley’s shirt. He felt the principality’s delicate fingertips working each button free. Tepid air hit his chest as the crisp cotton fell away, putting his cooling, wet crotch on full display. He swallowed another whimper.

“Is this all right?” Aziraphale asked as his hands hovered a few inches above the demon’s waistband. He waited until he received a confident nod. Gingerly, Aziraphale undid the button, followed by the zipper. He gently peeled the sodden fabric from his serpent’s skin, occasionally glancing at Crowley’s face to ensure his demon still seemed at ease.

It was all Crowley could do to not permit his mouth to hang open. He was truly amazed that Aziraphale didn’t flinch once as his ethereal flesh touched the soaked denim, never recoiled at the smell, nor was there judgment in his understanding, blue eyes.

Admittedly, Aziraphale was rather unperturbed. He wanted to help his demon feel better – everything else was simply inconsequential. “In you get,” the angel softly instructed. He slowly assisted Crowley as the demon lowered himself into the water. “That’s it. Would you like me to wash you?” Yet another nod answered. “Very well!” A few carefully-placed miracles, and he was ready to get to work.

Crowley watched as those perfectly manicured fingers tenderly soaped him down with an equally soft washrag. The gentle sensation of Aziraphale guiding the cloth along his torso nearly made him cry. He never wanted to part with that delicate, loving touch. “You shouldn’t do that.”

Aziraphale hurriedly drew away his hand, worried he’d crossed a line. “Oh, dear, I’m terribly sorry, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Angel.”

His brow furrowed. “Would you like me to continue?” He inquired softly. Warm water dripped down his arm as he held the washrag aloft between them. It hovered with his question in the steamy air of the small room.

YES! He wanted to shout. YES, PLEASE! But it wasn’t right, was it? An angel bathing a demon? Bloody unheard-of. Aziraphale’s hands shouldn’t be sullied with the filth of him. Especially not when he was covered in his own piss! Bullocks! Crowley put his head in his hands, ran his fingers through his hair, and finally met Aziraphale’s eyes. His voice cracked terribly as he whispered, “I’m gross, Angel”

“Is that it?” He released the breath he was holding. Leave it to his demon to fret over something so frightfully trivial. “Dear boy, you are not gross, and a bit of urine isn’t going to deter me.”

This is why Aziraphale was the angel! Only his principality could look at a demon who had just disgraced himself, kindly offer him a bath, and proceed to unflinchingly wash him! “Right.”

“Now, may I go on? You’re hardly half-way sorted.” His demon wouldn’t get a rash if Aziraphale had his way about it. However, he waited for consent.

Crowley heart thrummed in his ears, nearly drowning out the angel’s words. Clearly, Aziraphale wasn’t put-off by his accident; he genuinely wanted to care for him. Oh. Crowley tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Yeah, ‘course.”

He smiled brightly. “Wonderful! Thank you.” Aziraphale worked his way along the demon’s slender body, taking care to be as gently and thorough as possible. Upon reaching the V of his narrow hips, he paused. Aziraphale gestured at Crowley’s more sensitive bits and inquired, “May I?” He received a solid nod. “Thank you, dear boy!” The angel went on, ensuring to bathe every last inch of his serpent’s skin.

There wasn’t anything sexual about the way Aziraphale washed him; the principality simply went about his task without ulterior motives, his actions only fueled by love and kindness. It was, dare he say, _nice_? Sure, nice worked, but there was something deeper at play. His chest swelled with realization. He felt safe. Profoundly safe. Crowley sighed. If only he could feel like this every day. Of course, it was merely a fantasy, but a demon could dream.

Aziraphale felt the tension leave his serpent’s muscles and his heart fluttered. That’s it, dear boy! He’d technically just finished all the actual cleansing. Nevertheless, he tenderly glided the cloth down Crowley’s angular body, following the slight dip of his chest, the curves of his ribs. Aziraphale reveled in the privilege of seeing his demon so relaxed. He wanted to give him as many peaceful moments as he possibly could. Thus, the principality continued his loving attentions for a long while, humming softly while he slid the warm rag along Crowley’s torso. Eventually, Aziraphale set the washcloth aside and whispered, “There you are, all cleaned up!”

Crowley opened his eyes, suddenly torn from his reprieve, and grabbed the angel’s forearm. He hissed, “No one can know!”

Aziraphale clicked his tongue fondly as he helped the serpent out of the tub. “And who, pray tell, do you think I’d inform?”

“Right, thanks.” He focused his attention on wrapping the over-sized towel around his thin frame.

His voice softened. “Dear boy, accidents happen,” he assured. “Even I’ve had a few myself.” His cherub cheeks heated with the intimate admission. “Of course, it’s embarrassing, yes, but it is nothing of which to be ashamed.” Choosing to ignore Crowley’s disagreeable grunt, Aziraphale continued, “Corporations can be rather tricky things, as can getting used to the need to urinate. Look at babies, for example, my dear! It takes years for children to be toilet-trained. We were not granted such luxuries as caring parents who guided us through the tumultuous process. But I digress.” He paused, allowing himself a moment to get back on-track. “My dear, all I’m attempting to convey is that accidents, regardless of age, happen. Adults, children, angels, demons, mortals, and immortals, alike, are susceptible. And it’s all perfectly all right. Some individuals even engage in sexual kinks such as ‘Omorashi’ where they wet themselves on purpose; and that’s all right, too-” 

Crowley smirked and interjected, “Ooh, kinky Angel.” The principality’s calm, gentle explanation had put him at ease – well, at least enough to make the snarky remark.

A weight lifted from Aziraphale’s shoulders as he heard that delightful, friendly jab. Naturally, he played along and fussed, “Yes, I’ve just said it was considered a ‘kink’, did I not?”

“That you did,” he grinned.

“You’re feeling better.”

Crowley shrugged. “Seems I am.” In truth, he was feeling a great deal better. Finally clean and wrapped in an obscenely expensive towel, he almost felt like a proper demon again.

Aziraphale smiled. “Good!”

“Now, Angel,” the serpent began conspiringly, “tell me more about this ‘Omorashi’ thing.”

“Shouldn’t you be the one telling me? You are the demon, after all.” He asked with a flicker of mischief in his eyes.

“Probably, but I don’t know the first thing about it,” Crowley replied, flashing a wayward grin of his own.


End file.
